


Ecstatic Cling

by Neurocrat



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Deceptive cuddling, Hand Jobs, Law School, M/M, Matt screws up Foggy's chances with Marci, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 11:56:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10464354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurocrat/pseuds/Neurocrat
Summary: Matt giggles. “This nice girl gave me a really fun pill.”Foggy had already taken a breath to continue berating Matt over his lost chance to get laid, but he grinds to a halt. “Wait. A ‘fun pill’? What did you take, Matt?”-Matt takes something at a party that makes him very hands-y. An exasperated Foggy just wants to get him home safe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: consent might be construed as iffy here, as they are both intoxicated, and Matt does a lot of touching of Foggy without Foggy’s permission. But, the only reason Foggy is not giving permission is he doesn’t think Matt is in control of himself or really wants it. Misunderstandings get cleared up; everyone wins.

This is one of the best parties he’s ever been to, even counting college, thinks Foggy. Even counting the faculty parties and other high-end law school events he and Matt have been crashing. The DJ is excellent, the drinks are flowing, all kinds of attractive people are writhing together on a dimly lit dance floor. Foggy is pleasantly wasted, talking to the girl he’s been wanting for months, and generally happy to be alive.

It might just be booze-fueled overconfidence, but Foggy thinks he is finally getting somewhere with Marci. Marci the Hot Amazon, another 1L like him, so they’ve had all their classes together all year. She’s so his type – whip-smart, pulls no punches, tells it like it is, curvy as hell, and also built like she could break him. Foggy kind of wants to be broken by her. He feels at the peak of his verbal game, and for once, she might actually be appreciating his scintillating wit: instead of giving him a sarcastic brush-off, she is staying in the conversation, giving him lots of sarcastic rejoinders. Her playful insults might be transitioning to playful teasing? He can’t be sure, but she is smiling while she’s squinting warily at him.

His drunk perceptions may not be entirely trustworthy, but he is pretty sure she just gave him the once-over, eyes going up and down his body in a way that has got to mean she means business- she’s assessing the goods. _I’m totally going home with her tonight,_ thinks Foggy. _It’s finally happening._

And then, out of the blue, he has Matt draped across his back. Foggy would jump out of his skin if his muscles weren’t so loosened up by all those beers and martinis. “Foggy,” Matt says warmly into his ear, way too loud, grinning. 

“Matt! What the fuck? Where did you come from?”

“I’ve been here the whole time,” Matt says, and laughs, definitely sounding intoxicated, maybe far past Foggy, even. One of his hands tangles itself in Foggy’s hair; Foggy grabs onto it and detaches it, making an embarrassed laugh towards Marci, who is regarding them both skeptically.

“How did you even find me?”

Matt ignores him. “ _Evening,_ Ms. Stahl,” he says over Foggy’s shoulder in an amused drawl, which confuses Foggy further. Marci hadn’t said anything - how did Matt know she was standing in front of them?

“Murdock,” Marci acknowledges, as Matt’s other hand slides down Foggy’s hip. Foggy makes a startled noise. “Matt, jeez, okay, Matt, I think you’re really drunk,” he says, trying to detach that hand, while the other one goes back in his hair. He sighs and looks back at Marci, helplessly. 

Matt buries his face in the crook of Foggy’s neck and mumbles something about Foggy smelling good that Foggy fervently hopes Marci could not hear. And that she cannot tell that he’s springing a hard-on from all this touching, from the practically lustful tone of Matt’s voice.

“Hmm, well, much as I’ve enjoyed owning you in this banter-competition, Nelson, it looks like you’ve got your hands full of wasted roommate,” Marci says, patting Foggy on the shoulder and turning to leave.

“Marci – hold on, let me just talk to Matt a second,” Foggy pleads. 

“I’ll be around,” Marci says over her shoulder, non-committally. And she’s gone in the crowd.

Foggy gives it a moment, lets the disappointment sink in, takes a deep breath. Then he turns on his friend, still clinging to his back, hands creeping in front, over Foggy’s chest. Foggy grabs both Matt’s wrists and yanks them off. “God _damn_ it, Murdock! I was this fucking close! She was actually digging me, I think. What the fuck is your problem?”

Matt giggles. “This nice girl gave me a really fun pill.”

Foggy had already taken a breath to continue berating Matt over his lost chance to get laid, but he grinds to a halt. “Wait. A ‘fun pill’? What did you take, Matt?”

“I dunno. Something fun. She was nice, and very pretty. You feel really good,” he continues, almost in a purr, fingers stroking the side of Foggy’s neck.

“Matt, I -- Stop that,” Foggy says, impatiently breaking free of Matt and standing in front of him, holding him by the shoulders so he can look him in the face and talk without distraction. “Okay, I have a lot of questions; stay with me, Matt. One: did you take ecstasy?” He waits for Matt to answer. “This is important, Matt.”

“She called it a ‘Scooby Snack’,” Matt admits, smiling a little.

“Alright. Yeah. Sounds like ecstasy. At least, let’s hope that’s all it was. Okay. Two: how did you know she was pretty? And, three: if she was so pretty, why are you not taking her home right now, and instead you’re here cock-blocking me?”

“I knew,” Matt says airily. “Even before we touched all over each others’ faces.” He doesn’t answer the third question, but Foggy has forgotten it already in his haste to ask a fourth:

“Have you drank any water?”

Matt pauses again. Foggy feels his forehead, and Matt does seem kind of warm. Matt makes a “mmm” sound and leans into Foggy’s touch, falls forward a little when Foggy removes his hand. “Alright, buddy, let’s get you some water and get you home,” Foggy says with a sigh. This is not the first time this has happened: Foggy having to interrupt a good time he’s having at a bar or a party to take care of his friend, get him safely back to their shared campus housing. Usually, though, it is because Matt has become sulky and sad in a corner somewhere. This is the first time it has been because Matt ingested some kind of questionable street drug given to him by a stranger. 

Foggy leads Matt to the bar and manages to order a bottled water, trying to ignore the fact that Matt is all over him the whole time. The bartender eyes them as Foggy fumbles with his wallet and Matt rubs his nose against Foggy’s ear. “Someone’s going to get lucky tonight,” he remarks dryly, and Foggy feels his face get hot. “He’s my best friend, he’s… Really wasted,” Foggy hears himself explaining, feeling like an idiot; it’s none of this guy’s business, anyway.

“Sure, man. You two take care, alright?” the bartender says, mixing a drink for another customer as Foggy leaves the cash on the bar. 

They stumble home, Foggy half-heartedly complaining about how he is too drunk himself to be the responsible one, and Matt had better never do this again. Matt insists he is having a wonderful time, and there is no need for Foggy to take care of him, even though he fully appears to be on another planet. “I’ll make it up to you,” Matt promises, as Foggy stops them again to unscrew the bottle of water and make Matt drink. “I’ll buy you coffee tomorrow -- I’ll buy brunch for you, even.”

“Much as brunch sounds good -- like right now, at 2 AM, some eggs and hash browns would be fucking great -- you can’t make it up to me with mere _brunch,_ Murdock. Brunch cannot replace the warm embrace of Marci Stahl that I might have been blessed with. You are out of your mind.”

“Brunch, plus I’ll help you write that constitutional law paper,” Matt offers, tucking one hand in Foggy’s back pocket for no apparent reason. Foggy bats it away. 

“Shut up, Murdock,” Foggy huffs, taking the water back and screwing the cap back on, in case Matt drops it in his delirium. “You think helping me write a paper is in any way equivalent to getting laid?”

“You’ll get an A,” Matt says, slowly, his face turned toward Foggy, and flicks his eyebrows up, grinning. “I can guarantee you.” Looking at Matt’s face, Foggy gets lost for a moment. Is it just his frustrated Marci-induced horniness, or did Matt not really sound like he was talking about grades just then?

“C’mon,” he says, taking Matt’s arm to get them walking toward home again. Matt drags behind a little, caressing Foggy’s arm, and Foggy is sure he could block it out if he just was a little less drunk. 

They’re at their door, and Foggy is trying to get the right key, but his head is starting to spin; Matt is being no help at all, one arm around his back, leaning into Foggy’s body and swaying. Foggy’s finally found the right key and has it touching the lock when he feels Matt’s breath on his ear. “Maybe you could still get laid, Foggy,” he whispers. 

All of Foggy’s hairs stand up on the back of his neck, and he drops his key ring. “ _Fuck._ Matt! For Chrissake!” He’s irritated, but can’t help laughing. He’s never seen Matt like this. “You’re high as a kite, my friend,” Foggy chuckles, letting them into their room, where they both almost fall over, tripping over each others’ feet. “Shit, Matt. I always heard X made people touchy-feely, but this is insane.”

“I like it,” Matt says, taking Foggy’s hand and pulling him. “Come over here with me,” he says, casually. Foggy takes a step forward, but stops, realizing Matt is pulling him toward Matt’s bed.

Foggy feels the adrenaline spike in his blood like someone injected him with it; he almost feels sober for a second. Oddly, just at the moment that his pulse speeds up wildly, Matt’s smile turns into a wide grin. He quickly wipes it off, though, making a plaintive expression as he takes off his glasses and aims his eyes somewhere in the vicinity of Foggy’s face. 

“Please, Foggy, come on. I just want to cuddle.”

“Oh god. Okay. I can’t resist your big, sad brown eyes,” Foggy grumbles, not really joking. The man just needs some cuddling. Least he can do for his best friend. Foggy ignores several warning bells ringing in his head, including the one that says _You have an erection right now, you realize that, right?_ , and lets Matt lead him to the bed. 

Matt climbs in, laying down on his side, and pulls Foggy down in front of him. Before Foggy can even adjust to be comfortable, Matt has his arms wrapped around him and is pulling him in close, his breath hot on Foggy’s face. Matt is much stronger than he looks; Foggy doubts he could get free easily, even if he wanted to. Foggy’s muscles are tense as Matt bumps their foreheads together awkwardly. “Thank you,” Matt says, his voice too low and raw for Foggy’s addled brain to process. His hands crawl over Foggy’s back, and Foggy finds himself staring at Matt’s slightly parted lips. Matt is breathing heavily, his face flushed pink. Foggy knows he should make sure Matt drinks more water, but Matt’s hand is untucking Foggy’s shirt in the back and smoothing over the skin near his waistband, and Foggy forgets how to talk.

He has not let himself think about Matt this way. They are such good friends; they rely on each other. He never wanted to mess with that. 

Alright. He _has_ let himself think about Matt this way. Once, after they’d both been drinking a lot, just the two of them, and engaged in a lot of giggling and horsing around. Okay. maybe two or three times.

But this is just cuddling. Matt just wants to cuddle. Foggy can do that. He has got willpower. He puts his arms around his friend in turn, one hand stroking through Matt’s hair. “I’ve got you, buddy,” he tries to say in a take-charge, good-loyal-bro kind of way. But in response to his scritching Matt’s scalp, Matt lets loose the kind of moan normally reserved for something fancy happening to one’s genital area. Matt’s mouth is touching Foggy’s neck. He presses closer to Foggy and slides a leg over his. Foggy is acutely aware of a firm pressure against his dick, which is throbbing angrily at him by now. Foggy clears his throat.

“Matt?”

“Hmmm,” Matt says into his neck, which feels way too good.

“Um. You’re, like, really high on drugs, and … I don’t know if we should do this.”

“Do what? Cuddle?” Matt says, and Foggy _swears_ there’s a teasing note in his deadpan voice. To go along with a slow push forward of his hips, pressing himself even more into Foggy’s hard-on.

Foggy manages a dry laugh. “Okay, yeah, right. I think we both know this is a bit more than cuddling, Murdock,” he says, and feels Matt make another noise against his neck, moving his lips there. Yeah. Foggy is not imagining things. “And, from what I remember from our freshman year consent workshop, taking advantage of a very intoxicated person is not okay. You don’t even know what you’re doing. We are not doing this right now.”

Matt detaches from Foggy’s neck to point his face toward Foggy’s. His tone has turned serious. “I disagree completely, Fog. I absolutely know what I am doing.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Foggy knows. He just kind of wants to hear Matt say it.

Matt smiles, and quotes _Bound_. “’What does it look like? I’m seducing you.’”

Foggy laughs. They watched that movie together in college, rewinding when it was done to play the scene with Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon a couple more times, Foggy describing the impossible sexiness on the screen for Matt’s benefit. 

“You want it, right?” Matt asks, sounding a little unsure now.

“Oh god, Matt, you bet that killer ass of yours that I want it,” Foggy breathes; there is no point in being coy with him now. “You’re so fucking high, though. I really don’t know.”

“Ecstasy does make you really want to touch people,” Matt says. “But I’m just using it as an excuse, Foggy. Why do you think I took it? Why do you think I ditched that girl who gave it to me?”

Foggy takes in air sharply. “Wait a minute. Wait a fucking minute. You’re telling me you had a big scheme all night to get in my pants?”

“She _was_ really pretty, too,” Matt says, smirking. “And she _really_ didn’t want to stop touching me. Does that make us even, for me throwing a wrench into your Marci interaction?”

“Fuck you, Matt,” Foggy says weakly, and kisses him on the mouth. “Fucking fuck you. Oh my god, fuck you.” He kisses him again, already out of breath, while Matt laughs, murmurs “yes, please.” Those annoyingly captivating lips that have haunted Foggy’s safe, warm platonic feelings toward Matt for years. They are suddenly all over his face, his neck, then back to his mouth, pressing in so deliciously. Foggy groans as Matt’s tongue slides in, takes it hungrily, licking back.

Matt pushes Foggy onto his back and starts undoing Foggy’s shirt buttons, still kissing him. Foggy grabs Matt’s face as they make out, sinking into a drunken pleasure miasma, and before he knows what’s happening, his shirt is completely open and Matt is undoing his pants, too. Matt’s hands roam over his lower belly while he rubs his face on Foggy’s chest; Foggy jumps a little as his stubble scratches over his nipple. Then, Matt’s mouth all over his chest, Matt’s tongue on his nipple, and Foggy’s brain short-circuits. He’s crying out in a distinctly unmanly way, and he doesn’t fucking care. He gasps as Matt leaves his nipple and latches on to a spot on his ribs, sucking a hickey while Foggy squirms and laugh-sobs Matt’s name. Matt moves wildly, almost out of control, and there is nothing Foggy can do but be ravished by him. 

Foggy tries to get his hands up Matt’s shirt, but Matt’s moving too fast, shucking Foggy’s pants off his hips and down to trap his knees together. Foggy’s now laying on the bed open and exposed except for his boxers, while Matt’s still wearing all his clothes. Foggy feels his face and chest blush as Matt feels him all over, his touches serving both to caress Foggy and trace his contours for Matt, so Matt can know his body. Foggy swallows hard as one of Matt’s hands slides down over his crotch, the other one still making sweeping movements up his stomach and over his chest. “God, Matt,” he chokes out, as Matt squeezes. Both Matt’s hands go to his waistband and are pulling at his boxers, but Foggy grabs his forearms. “Wait, wait,” Foggy pants, delirious. 

Matt freezes. “I – I’m sorry – we don’t have to –“

“No, Matty, I just –“ It is just all too much, but Foggy has caught his breath now, and his dick jumps, a part of him apparently not affected by whatever hesitation or cowardice he might be feeling.

“I just – can you take some of your clothes off, too? I feel kind of shy here,” Foggy finishes, and Matt smiles at him in a way that makes his heart flutter. _Oh no, don’t you fucking dare,_ Foggy tells it. It might be too late.

Matt strips his long-sleeved T-shirt off over his head in one smooth movement. Foggy has seen Matt with his shirt off before, but has always tried not to stare – just out of respect, even though Matt can’t see him and he theoretically could get away with it. Foggy is happy to let that rule fly out the window, closing his open mouth before he can start drooling. Before he has had a chance to fully appreciate Matt’s form, Matt stands up and shucks his jeans off. Boxer briefs hugging every curve of his muscular thighs, his bulging package. Foggy thinks he could use about an hour and a half to just look, to just watch Matt walk around, but Matt crawls back on top of Foggy immediately, pressing the whole length of his body against him. As he kisses Foggy, his hands slide up Foggy’s arms and pin his hands over his head. Foggy whimpers.

Matt detaches his lips from Foggy and hovers over him, his eyes trained somewhere on the middle of Foggy’s face. He moves his body, pushing his pelvis hard into Foggy’s. Foggy feels the length of Matt’s erection rub against his own, and his head falls back on the bed. Matt thrusts faster, sliding against him. Even through his alcohol haze, Foggy is rock hard and hovering on the brink of coming just from this, just from Matt holding him down and rubbing against him. He looks up, gets an eyeful of Matt’s trunk muscles undulating as he moves, and has to close his eyes and think about legal precedents to keep from jizzing in his boxers.

“Matt,” Foggy pants. “God.”

“Are you okay? Is this okay?” Matt asks, a little late, and Foggy laughs, a slightly hysterical note in his voice. 

“This is wonderful. I’m wonderful. But I’m going to come any second, and the only thing that would make this more perfect is if I can touch your ass while I do it. Can I--?” He pushes against Matt’s grip, but Matt is like stone. Matt grins down at him evilly, and Foggy’s heart leaps into his throat. It’s so easy for Matt to make him feel helpless.

Matt lets up on his hands finally, though, and Foggy immediately wraps them around Matt, slides his palms down the hard curves of Matt’s lower back, into the valley between them, and up over the thick, round muscle of each cheek. Matt grounds his weight on his knees, still leaning over Foggy, and reaches simultaneously into Foggy’s boxers and his own. Foggy feels Matt’s warm hand stroking his cock. At the same time, he grips Matt’s stunning _glutei maximi_ and watches Matt’s head fall back in pleasure as he strokes himself with his other hand. Foggy doesn’t stand a chance. He is coming before he knows what is happening, choking out Matt’s name without meaning to, his hips bucking hard into Matt’s hand. All this seems to trigger Matt, who lets out a cry that makes Foggy’s whole body jerk with a post-orgasmic aftershock, and Foggy watches, a little dumbfounded, as Matt’s come lands all over his chest and stomach.

The next morning, Foggy doesn’t remember much past that point.

Matt is curled up facing him, not touching. They woke up in Matt’s bed, the fact of which by itself set Foggy’s heart racing when he became conscious enough to realize it. They’re both wearing nothing but underwear. Foggy found his nice silk shirt crumpled under his pillow. There are some wadded tissues on the floor, but Foggy’s chest and stomach still feel very sticky.

Foggy asked, and Matt tells him what happened after they both came. “We just sort of held each other,” he says, sounding shy, “and fell asleep.” He takes a deep breath and wipes a hand over his face. “I feel terrible, Foggy.”

“What? Why, Matt?”

“I don’t know. Because I’m embarrassed how I acted last night? Because I did ecstasy, and now I’m coming down from it? Because I… I’m afraid of losing you.”

“I think it’s more like you gained me,” Foggy says.

Matt draws his eyebrows together. “Are you sure? I should have been more cautious… That was really stupid of me. All of it. I don’t want to hurt our friendship. I just… I needed you so much.”

“Oh, Matt,” Foggy says, thick in his throat. “I loved it. I’ve wanted you for, like, ever. You were wild last night, and it was like all my dirty fantasies, come true.” He laughs, then gets quiet. “Okay, just one of my dirty fantasies. But anyway. I don’t want to mess with our friendship, either, but I want to do it again. Maybe many times. Maybe all the time.”

“You do?” Matt says. He reaches out tentatively, feeling for Foggy’s face, and tucks hair behind Foggy’s ear.

“Yeah,” says Foggy. “But one thing. You’re right – that was pretty stupid. You don’t need to ingest illegal substances to woo me, Matthew Murdock.”

“The only really dumb part about it,” Matt says, “is that I was too damn impatient to do anything better than just jerk us both off.”

Foggy laughs. Matt, ever the perfectionist. “Well, fortunately for you, I’m still here. And we’ve got time,” Foggy says. “So much time.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Apparently I just really want to get Matt high)


End file.
